


A Very Necessary Thing

by Brigdh



Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: Class Issues, Established Relationship, House Party, M/M, Summer, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigdh/pseuds/Brigdh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard and Alec take a trip to the countryside; chaos, inevitably, ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Necessary Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anno_Hreog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anno_Hreog/gifts).



> This is set a year or two post-"Swordspoint". I hope you enjoy it, because I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you so much for the opportunity.

Richard suspected the letter would be strange, but he was still surprised at the offer it contained, once Alec had read it to him. It wasn’t that it was unusual; nobles who’d hired him often found themselves including a stay in the country alongside his regular fee, if matters became a bit more heated than they had expected. It was part of the standard arrangement: Richard handled the swordfighting, and they handled the consequences. 

He hadn’t expected to receive any letters from this patron; the fight was over, for one thing, and he never liked it when they put his work into writing. Most relevantly, no one could call this situation heated, not if they wanted to be believed. Richard had won the fight - it had been arranged on a river barge, which was more showy than he liked, if an interesting challenge - then there had been a few days of the typical gossip, and by now, nothing. Richard would have heard if the watch wanted him for questioning. As far as he knew, the matter had been forgotten by everyone. Except, perhaps, his patron. 

Richard suspected that was exactly the problem. He’d only met this patron once, dealing mostly with the man’s secretary, but he’d come away with the sense of a thoughtless, self-important man, not the sort he usually liked to work with. It had been such a simple job, though: only to first blood, and with no chance of a court investigation, not with it taking place at an afternoon party where everyone could see the correct forms had been followed. The man had not really wanted Richard’s skill, only his notoriety. He must have been disappointed when no scandal had resulted. 

So there were plenty of reasons to refuse, and if it had been another day, Richard would have. But it was late summer, and the city felt like an oven. There hadn’t been rain or wind to break the hold of the heat in over a week, and there were no signs of any approaching. It was too hot to fight, too hot to eat, even too hot to sleep. And to add insult to the injury, Riverside smelled even more vile than usual, reeking of sewage, rotting fish, and the green mud that was exposed along the edges of the river. A week in the country sounded like a welcome retreat, necessary or not.

Alec slid his thumb along the edge of the letter; thick, expensive paper, into which the ink had sunk like melted chocolate on a linen napkin. “What was his name, again?”

Richard shrugged. “A second cousin to the Nevillesons; something like that. I think he’s new to the city. I’d never heard of him two months ago.”

“Who arrives to the city in summer? Anyone with sense - or money - has fled the heat and the fevers.” Alec took the letter to the window and tilted it in the light. “And no watermark. A sure sign of a tasteless man.” He sighed. “The country house is certain to be stunningly ugly.”

“Does it matter? As long as the place isn’t as hot as here.”

“It’s summer in the countryside too.” Alec’s voice was less harsh than the words; it was too hot even for impatience.

“I know. But there will be breezes, and cold cider, and no one boiling laundry in the courtyard.”

“You do make it sound appealing.” Alec looked at the letter again. “Must we? I’m sure I’d be terribly bored. And you know how I hate the country. It’s full of... nothing.” He shuddered melodramatically.

“He’s offering rooms in his own house. That means there’ll be a library.”

Alec only snorted. “One matched to the color of the rugs, I’m sure.” He started to toss the letter out of the window, then caught himself, remembering that Richard was careful of any written records. “We’re not burning this. Not now, at any rate. If you light so much as a candle, I swear I’ll kill myself.” His voice mocked his own threat, and there was a small smile on his lips as he turned from the window, dropped the letter in Richard’s lap, and made his way to the chaise lounge, where he stretched like a cat. The upper buttons on his lightweight summer shirt were left undone, revealing the lines of his collarbones, and the hollow where they met beneath his throat. “Shall we go to Martha’s?”

Richard placed the letter on the table, drawing an empty bowl over to rest on it, though there was no wind to blow it away. “Let’s wait till sunset. I’d sweat through my shirt if we went anywhere now.”

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” Alec said, his smile deepening.

“I would be, if we went out.”

“Really? What a disappointment for Martha.” Alec laid back and flung an arm over his eyes. His neck looked long and pale, a few strands of hair clinging damply beneath his chin. “I’m going to sleep. Wake me when it’s cool enough for you.” His feet were bare to above the ankle, hanging limply off the end of the chaise lounge he was too tall for. Richard thought of going to him, touching the soft skin of the arch, the curve of the bone in his ankle, but the afternoon was so very hot. He stretched out his own legs and closed his eyes.

Martha’s was nearly empty later, and Alec lost a handful of coins dicing with a drunk whore, the only person there who agreed to play with him. Nonetheless they stayed late into the night, because the tavern was located in a basement and it was cooler than their own rooms. Still, the next morning Richard woke in the pale gray light before dawn to find Alec out of bed. He was packing clothes, along with a random assortment of other things: a book, a deck of marked cards, a spool of thread.

“I think they have their own candles,” Richard said, still half-asleep.

“You’d be amazed,” Alec drawled without turning to look at him, “what nobles can forget.”

 _Not you_ , Richard thought, but that wasn’t the sort of thing Alec liked to hear.

He got up to help, relinquishing the prospect of more sleep; there was no changing Alec’s mind once he’d decided. He packed a few things of his own, things Alec had either forgotten or considered unnecessary: weapons, mostly. It was barely day when they left, leaving the key with Marie, who wished them an unconvincing-sounding happy travels, most likely for waking her at that hour. The air was almost cool so early, though the cobblestones and buildings had retained the warmth of the previous day, radiating it in a subtle promise of the coming heat. The light was white and hazy, casting diffuse shadows, lacking the strength it would have in a few hours.

The carriage was waiting where his patron had promised it would be, far enough from Riverside to annoy Alec. “Does he fear thieves that much, this Nevilleson? Doesn’t he know this is entirely the wrong hour for that sort of thing? All good criminals are tucked into bed right now. Or snoring in the gutter. Either way, entirely indisposed.”

“Except for us.”

“I’m not a thief.” Alec held up his hands, spreading his fingers. “I never acquired the dexterity for it.”

“No? I’ve always thought your hands were quite... skilled.” Richard said blandly, not smiling.

Alec lifted his chin and pointedly did not reply. Instead, he gestured at the carriage, waiting under the eaves of an inn. “Look at that. He’s got his device emblazoned on the doors. Does he want everyone to know he’s the one who hired you?”

“Yes,” Richard said with a shrug. “I rather think he does.”

Alec pursed his lips. “Well, one can’t blame him. You cost him enough; he may as well show off what he purchased.”

Richard shot him a look at that, but Alec didn’t meet his eyes. Richard might have said something, but just then the coachman came around the side of the building, hastily hiding a mug behind his back when he noticed them waiting. 

They were inside the carriage and on their way soon enough, though the coachman’s worried gaze had lingered on Alec. Richard had thought he would protest - after all, the letter had only mentioned Richard himself - but in the end he was too well-trained, and Alec’s manner too arrogant, to allow any room for objection.

Richard hated traveling in carriages. He found them stuffy and cramped, and they left his stomach with an odd feeling. Alec sank into the seat with grace, adjusting the curtains to his taste as though he owned the thing, which Richard supposed he should have expected. They were still bouncing on cobblestone streets when Alec discovered a wooden box on the floor, half covered with one of the lap rugs he’d tossed aside. 

“How kind; he’s left you a picnic.” Alec offered the box to Richard, who waved it away, not wanting to even see food just then. “Or perhaps he forgot this after his own last jaunt.” 

Alec pulled an apple from the box and took a bite; Richard could hear the crunch. “No,” Alec decided, “it’s too fresh to be forgotten.” He rubbed excess juice from his lips with the back of the hand that held the apple, sorting through the box with the other. “He doesn’t think much of your palette: apples, cheese, brown ale. No delicacies for the swordsman.” He took another bite of the apple and replaced the lid. “I did warn you. I’m expecting this trip to be a mistake. And I can feel that house will be ugly.”

He was wrong though; at least about the house. It was designed and decorated in accordance with the current mode; unoffensive, if also uncreative. Alec sneered at its size, but it was larger than any building Richard had slept in before, and empty except for them and a few live-in servants, who mostly ignored them, to Richard’s relief. Despite the many rooms with furniture covered in white cloth and curtains closed to prevent fading the wallpaper, they’d been given a small room near the pantry, which Alec swore was meant for a servant. “Probably a chambermaid,” he’d said, irritated, “or a seamstress. Tell me, Richard, where does a swordsman rank on the hierarchy below stairs?” 

But mostly he was pleased. Richard had been right about the library, and Alec was content to be lazy, relaxing in the long, empty days. The grounds were filled with trees that provided shade and cooled the air when it blew, filling it with the scent of ripening apples and peaches. There was a flowerbed near the front entrance, trellises of roses and jasmine and honeysuckle, the blossoms heavy and full, most of them blown in the heat. The house had been built recently enough to have large windows, and they left them open at night for those scents, heavy and almost too sweet.

“I suppose,” Alec granted on the third evening, “you were right. It’s an improvement over Riverside.” He was sitting on the floor by the bed, attempting to teach himself to deal from the bottom of a deck of cards without dropping them. Richard could have shown him how, but Alec hadn’t asked.

“I wonder if it worked,” he said idly.

“If what worked?” 

“This. The country trip, the escape from the city, all of that. Did he get people to talk about him in the end?”

“I thought you didn’t like it when people talked about you.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be about me, would it?” Richard pointed out. “It would be about what’s-his-name. All I did was beat Miltner, which is hardly worth mentioning. But my patron, now; he hired a swordsman over a game of billiards.”

“I doubt it. Anyone who wants attention that badly is sure to be utterly uninspiring.”

“I don’t think you’d like him. I didn’t.”

“I never like your patrons, Richard, you know that. They want you to kill for them, but only if it’s proper, tidy. _Safe_.” He spat the word out like a curse. And then he shrugged one shoulder and said, in a lighter tone, “Besides, they’re always nobles. If I liked the nobles, I wouldn’t have to spend summers in Riverside in the first place.”

Richard watched his hands on the cards, squaring the deck neatly for another attempt. “No other reason?” he dared to ask.

Alec looked up at him, and the cards jumped out of his grasp. He looked down again, swearing as he bent to sweep them up. 

“Here, you’re holding it wrong,” Richard said, taking Alec’s right hand and fitting his fingers around the top of the deck more tightly, letting the smallest finger slip, hidden, underneath the cards. “Try it like that.”

Alec did, but the result was still too obvious; if he wanted to cheat, he’d have to be able to deal the cards without anyone noticing. It didn’t seem to bother him, though; he wasn’t even watching the deck. “Never mind. There’s no one to play against here. Except for you, and you won’t gamble.”

Richard’s hand was still on his wrist; he slid it down and took the cards gently from Alec’s grasp, rearranging them to the right hold. “Watch me, I’ll -”

“Richard.” Alec shoved hard at the cards, and Richard let them fall, not watching how they scattered. Alec raised himself to his knees and spread his arms. “I said, _never mind_. Kiss me,” he commanded, and Richard obeyed.

***

Richard had discovered a small brook in one corner of the grounds, and the next day he decided to go fishing, borrowing a pole from the old gardener. Alec came with him, carrying a book he had secretly removed from the library. It, like all the others, was a dark reddish-brown; as Alec had predicted, they were the same shade as the imported carpet.

The water of the brook was cool, and the shade of the trees dappled its surface. There was a rotting log a little downstream, just the sort of place trout liked to hide, and a mossy bank where Alec could sit and lean against some overgrown roots. Richard discarded his shoes and put his feet into the water; it might scare away the fish, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to catch one anyway. It wasn’t as if they needed it; the house’s pantry was more than adequately stocked. 

They had been sitting there for a time, producing neither fish nor words, when Richard noticed the birds had fallen silent. He half-turned, and caught a distant crunching sound. “What’s that?”

Alec looked up from his book, puzzled, and then he heard it too. “Gravel. Someone’s riding through the gates.”

They looked at each other, wary. Richard sighed. “Come on. We’d better see who it is.” He was glad he’d brought a sword with him that morning. It wouldn’t be impossible for some young blade to have followed them out here, expecting to make his name by catching St Vier unprepared.

The brook wasn’t far from the front of the house, and they arrived in time to see a large carriage pulling up to the door, more ornate even than the one they’d ridden in. Richard stopped while still hidden in the shade of the trees, waiting to see who emerged. Alec took a few further steps, but Richard caught him by the arm, drawing him back. It was a sign of Alec’s nervousness that he came.

It was a young man, of average height and build, but wearing a garish outfit of royal purple. Richard recognized him by the curly blond hair, just a little longer than most nobles’, and relaxed. “It’s my patron,” he said. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”

Alec went rigid under Richard’s hand. “You never told me it was Will Nevilleson!”

“I didn’t think it mattered.” Richard started forward, but halted, noticing how pale Alec’s face had gotten. “What’s wrong? Do you know him?”

“No. Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Alec,” Richard said, uncertain. “He doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Shall I hide under the bed, then? I don’t think I’d fit in the linen closet. Perhaps if you snuck me a bit of bread once a day....” He trailed off, turning from the sight of the housekeeper curtseying to Nevilleson. “Listen. There’s more coming.”

***

They snuck in through the back servants’ entrance which, as Alec had pointed out, was suspiciously close to their room. By that point, four carriages had passed through the front gates, and there seemed to be no indication that that was the last of them.

“Do you think he could have forgotten we were here?” Richard asked, more to distract Alec than any other reason. He was pacing up and down the hallway, arms crossed tightly across his chest. 

“No. He’s throwing a house party. You don’t throw a house party with the city’s most expensive, most notorious, most reclusive swordsman in your house by accident.”

“I’m not reclusive,” Richard said mildly. “I just don’t like parties.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes. I’m sure if we go and explain to him that you’re not reclusive, it’s just that you’re a bit shy, he’ll call the whole thing off.”

“I don’t think there’s a way out of it. Maybe it won’t be so bad. He might have those little cakes you like.”

Alec’s fingers tightened on his arms, and Richard thought he might hide in the bedroom after all. But he drew himself up to his full height. “Let’s go, then. Before I change my mind.”

Nevilleson was in the reception hall. Luckily, he was alone except for a servant he was giving instructions to; Richard could hear the voices of the other nobles a few rooms away. He had to wait only briefly. “St Vier!” Nevilleson shouted, louder than necessary, as he caught sight of them, dismissing the footman with a slap on the shoulder. 

“Hello,” Richard said. He could feel Alec hovering behind him, tension radiating off of him.

Nevilleson came at them with an arm extended, as though he would drop it around the swordsman’s shoulders, but Richard shifted his weight backward slightly, and Nevilleson let the arm drop. His wide grin didn’t falter. “Welcome, welcome! I hope you’re enjoying the stay.” He seemed to notice Alec for the first time, a slight question coming into his eyes. “Both of you?”

Richard paused to see if Alec would say something, but he was silent. When the wait became uncomfortable, he said, “This is Alec. He’s with me.”

Nevilleson didn’t acknowledge him, just continued staring at Alec. His furrowed brown and pale hair gave him the look of a pug dog. “David? Is that really you?”

“William,” Alec said cooly.

“I - I heard - that is...” Nevilleson shook his head. “I had no idea you were here.”

“I heard you were giving a party. Richard and I adore parties.” Alec gestured to the clothes he was wearing, old things he’d put on that morning when they’d thought they’d be alone. His breeches were threadbare at the knees, his boots needed resoling, and he wasn’t even wearing a jacket. At least his shirt was new. “Of course, if we’d known, I’d have dressed up.”

Nevilleson, to his credit, took no more than a polite glance at the outfit. “Well, of course you’re invited. In fact, this is wonderful.” A smile, proud and anticipatory, lit his face. “You’ll have so much to talk about!”

“Charming,” Alec drawled. 

Nevilleson caught the irony, but tried to smooth it over. “Would you like some time to freshen up? Perhaps you could wait to join us for dinner; we’ll be eating at six. Country hours, you know.”

“Don’t be silly; I can’t keep your guests in anticipation. That would be rude.” He took Richard’s arm to escort him to a door on the left; the gesture must have looked casual, but Richard could feel how taut he was. Nevilleson hurried to catch up with them, a slightly stunned look on his face. Richard recognized the expression from people Alec didn’t like. 

They paused on the threshold, and the low chatter of the gossip within died out as those gathered there turned to look at them. Richard was already regretting this; he didn’t like these looks, curious with a bit of impatience. He suspected that they thought he and Alec were beggars Nevilleson had brought inside for some no doubt amusingly eccentric reason. 

“This is St Vier,” Nevilleson announced. “I’m sure we’re all honored by his presence here. I know I feel lucky to get to talk to the great man. He accepts invitations so rarely these days!” He laughed, the sort of laugh the nobles used when they thought they were being generous. The eyes in the room all focused on him.

“And this,” Nevilleson said, a bit more awkwardly, “is an unexpected guest, though no less welcome. I’m sure some of you know David Campion Tre-”

Alec waved a hand, cutting him off. “Now, now, there’s no need to be so formal. We’re all friends here, aren’t we? David is fine.”

And then no one was looking at Richard. Nevilleson proceeded to introduce the people in the room, but the names washed through Richard’s mind. Mostly young men, Alec’s and Nevilleson’s age, with a handful of young women, and a few older ones, scattered here and there throughout the group. Chaperones, he supposed. Despite the long ride in the carriages, they were dressed in unwrinkled finery, lightweight linens and thin silks. Several of the women waved painted fans in a manner meant more to draw attention to their faces and necks than to cool the air. 

Alec nodded to the room grandly, his smile wide, his eyes unhealthily bright. As soon as Nevilleson had finished speaking, he plunged into the crowd, drawing Richard along by their linked arms. He headed first for one of the young women, a short, thin girl with black hair and a pink dress. 

“Sarah Wells,” Alec said. “How do you do?”

Her eyes were large and dark, and a slight blush came to her cheeks at Alec’s attention. Her fan was painted with cherry blossoms the pale pink of the inside of a shell. “Very well, my lord. And you?”

“Oh, but I am also very well. Isn’t this such a pleasant party? Not like some.” Alec frowned theatrically. “You made my sister cry at her birthday party.”

She laughed nervously, and her fan moved faster. “I don’t remember.”

“I do,” Alec purred. “You told her she was too ugly to play games with you, and then you threw her doll in the mud.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, we were all such naughty children, weren’t we? It seems so long ago.”

“Janine washed the doll, but she never could get the mud out of that dress. My mother beat her for it,” Alec said, offering the information like an observation on the weather. 

She opened her mouth slowly, but closed it without a word, pressing her lips tight together and looking away.

“Alec,” Richard said, his voice low.

Alec didn’t look at him. “Lovely reminiscing with you,” he said brightly to the girl. She closed her fan and clutched it tight in her hands, eyes still downcast. “I must go and say hello to the others now. Perhaps we’ll play cards, after dinner? I am very good at whist.”

The party was like that. Alec didn’t know everyone in the room, but that didn’t stop him from insulting them. When Richard left his side for a glass of the lemonade servants had brought, a few of the men cornered him to ask questions about swordfighting. Richard was not good at explaining how he did what he did, and had started avoiding these parties precisely because of such questions. Most of them weren’t worth the effort; he was tempted to ask in return, _you do know you’re not supposed to hold it by the sharp end, don’t you?_

But he knew what they really wanted to ask; he could see how their eyes went from him to Alec. None of them dared. Not yet. It was early, though, and there had not been much to drink.

Nevilleson didn’t look pleased, which Richard didn’t understand; this was certainly a party that would be remembered. 

By the afternoon, the gathering had dispersed a bit; some to the games room, some to a small parlor with a harpsichord, some to stroll the grounds. Richard caught Alec in the hallway. “Hasn’t it been enough?”

“But we’re having such fun, Richard.” Alec’s face gave the lie to his words; the skin around his eyes was dark, his lips chapped and pale. The note of sarcasm in his voice was savage. From a near room came the sound of billiard balls clicking and, following, low male laughter. 

“This isn’t good for you.”

“I’m not -”

They both caught the sound of Alec’s name from nearby, spoken with careless superiority. “Do you think he really lets that swordsman fuck him?”

“Why else would he be here?” 

“I suppose St Vier seems a nice enough fellow, but... to live in Riverside? What could he be playing at?”

“Well, his grandfather did go mad. They say it runs in the family.”

A third voice, more amused than the other two, broke in. “You’re ascribing far too much credit to David. There’s no grand mystery there. He likes it rough, that’s all.”

“Don’t be so crude, Thomas. There has to be something more to it than that.”

“I doubt it. You’ve seen how St Vier handles a sword, haven’t you?” More laughter. 

Alec’s face was red and his mouth had tightened, drawn to a thin line. Richard placed a hand on his sword’s hilt, but Alec shook his head. “They’re all thinking it. You can’t kill an entire party of nobles.”

“I wouldn’t have to kill all of them. Just the one who said it. To make a point.”

“They won’t learn. They can’t. Learning would imply their own imperfection.” 

“To scare them, then. To give them something else to say.” 

“Yes.” Alec smiled, though none of the strain left his face. “You’re right. We’ll make a point.”

He posed on the threshold, allowing the doorway to frame him: a tall, fine-boned figure, aristocratic despite the shabby clothes. There was the brief hush that follows the appearance of the object of discussion, but the room went deadly silent when they noticed Richard motionless by his side, hand still on his sword. A few of the men wore thin court swords, too light and bejeweled for real fighting, but more of them had discarded weapons entirely, counting on the small group and causal environment for safety.

“Thomas. Simon. Leo.” Alec nodded at the three men in turn, singling them out from the rest.

One of the three, the youngest-looking, had gone pale already. “David,” he said, “it didn’t mean anything. You know how people talk - it was just curiosity -”

Alec listened with a show of patience, but the man came stumbling to a halt over his own words. “Three of them,” Alec said, disregarding the excuses, “and only two of us. That doesn’t seem like fair odds, does it?”

“For me,” Richard asked, “or for them?”

Another one of the men laughed, a note of fear in it. “You can’t really mean to challenge us, David. I’m not armed.” He turned, trying to get some of the others to agree with him.

Alec shrugged. “The law does not concern itself with such matters. As long as the challenge is spoken out first. Trust me; I am quite intimate with the details of the laws regarding dueling. As you may remember.”

The third man Alec had singled out, the one who hadn’t spoken yet, snorted. “The law, perhaps, doesn’t care. But what of honor?” His had been the last voice, the one full of smug insinuation. It was angry now, resenting the situation.

“Oh, honor. Of course. What do you think honor has to say here, Richard?”

“Yours has been touched, my lord.”

“See, there? I think we all can agree on that.” He pointed to the third man; Thomas, Richard thought his name had been. “Him.”

The man’s foot slipped back half a step before he steadied himself, his right hand opening and closing on the empty air beside his hip. Richard drew his sword, and the rasp of metal from the scabbard was very loud in the quiet room.

“Here, now,” one of the onlookers began. “You can’t-”

“Be quiet,” Alec growled.

Richard steadied his sword, the tip at the man’s chest, and waited. He had no pity for him, but this wasn’t his way: an unarmed man, who wasn’t even trying to back away. Waiting for Alec to call him off, Richard met the man’s eyes; they were hazel, but they fluttered closed at Richard’s gaze.

It seemed like a long time passed. Richard thought Alec must have changed his mind, decided to kill the man after all. He couldn’t delay any longer; holding the man like this, making him wait, must be a sort of torture. He drew back, elbow bent, and at that moment two things happened: someone arrived in the room at a run, noisily crashing against the door-frame, and underneath Alec said, “Wait.”

“What are you doing?” Nevilleson said, his voice rough from his dash to the room.

“Things were growing a bit boring. Don’t blame yourself, it’s just that time of day: too late for tea, too early for dinner... what to do? I thought I’d help.”

“Thank you,” Nevilleson said carefully. Richard turned his head just enough to see him from the corner of his eyes. “That will be unnecessary.”

“So many things are,” Alec said politely. “But isn’t this why you invited us?”

“No.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted? Something for everyone to talk about?”

“No.” Richard could see Nevilleson swallow, hear how difficult the word was for him. “Please.” 

Alec gave a deep, satisfied sigh. “As you like.”

Richard did not step back immediately; instead he pressed the sword forward, slowly and deliberately. It reached the man’s shirt, dented the crisp, white linen, and touched the chest beneath. A little harder, and he could feel in the sword how the man trembled; harder still, and he would have felt his heartbeat, though just for an instant. He didn’t; this was enough. When he sheathed his sword, there was the tiniest spot of blood on the man’s chest, no bigger than a thumbprint. 

“I do hate to leave a party early, but I’ve a prior engagement.” Alec looked around the room, and his smile was vicious. Nevilleson stayed silent, making none of the polite protests that were appropriate. “All of you, please feel free to pay us a visit anytime. We’re in Riverside; ask for Marie the whore.”

They left the room, and behind them, conversation was slow to start. 

“You know,” Richard said, “none of them will hire me now.”

“Oh, you’re wrong. Everyone is going to want you; more so, I mean. You came off just as they adore: silent, obedient, and deadly.”

“Not Thomas,” Richard said, remembering the look in the man’s eyes. 

“Well, one can’t have everything.” 

“They won’t like you, for this.” 

“And so? They didn’t like me before.”

Footsteps sounded behind them. Alec turned suddenly, opening the nearest door and rushing into it. Richard followed, and Alec closed the door softly behind them, pressing his ear to it. They were in another bedroom, larger than the one they’d been given. It had a feel of readiness: there were new candles on the table and fresh linens on the bed. An opened trunk waited against one wall, bright-colored dresses waiting inside.

“Are we hiding?” Richard asked, amused.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Alec was stiff, though, near the breaking point with the pressure that had been building in him all day, ever since that first sound of a carriage on the gravel path. He took a shallow breath, and then another. Richard could see that they were coming too quickly, and realized this was the moment when Alec might do anything. There was no expression on his face, no clue of what might come.

He knew better than to touch Alec, not yet; he had tried it before, thinking he could soothe away the tension, and Alec had struck him, twisting away as he lashed out, his voice suddenly raised and angry. Alec wasn’t a fighter, but a lucky blow had caught Richard in the mouth, and when he touched his fingers to his lips there had been blood. 

Now, Alec took a step away from the door, but still rested his hands on it; he clenched them into fists, the knuckles white against the dark wood. “I don’t want them to know me. I don’t want them to see me.”

“I know.”

“You can’t stop them. You can’t kill all of them,” he said again, but earlier he had been joking, and this was harsh.

“We could leave. Just go, away from here, right now.”

Alec turned his head slowly, his eyes glittering. “Richard,” he breathed, and his voice trembled on the edge of anger and desire. “I did.”

He came away from the door, and his fingers were hard as stone as he took Richard’s hand, as they drew together, but Richard still waited until Alec kissed him, and then he opened his mouth, tasting him, and closed his eyes. Alec’s hands ran over him, searching, and took hold of his face, pulling him closer. Alec’s body had no softness in it now, no hint of comfort, as clear and fine and sharp as broken glass. He was asking for something, wordlessly- to forget, to feel, to burn out- and Richard wanted to give him whatever he needed. 

They didn’t make it to the bed. Alec gasped with something like pain when Richard drew open his breeches. “No, they’ll hear us.”

“Not if you’re quiet.”

“I don’t think I can.” But he released Richard’s wrist, and made no protest when Richard stroked him, made no sound at all. Richard kissed his neck, and felt Alec swallow under his mouth, could nearly feel the words struggling to break free.

Richard dropped to his knees, and felt with pleasure the sharp arc Alec’s body made, jerking up even before he took Alec in his mouth. Alec’s breath sounded almost like sobs, rough and short, and he tasted of sweat and seed. Richard looked up, and saw Alec had his hand pressed tight to his mouth, saw him throw his head back against the wall with enough force to strike a dull thud. The reverberations seemed to travel down him in shudders. Richard drew his mouth slowly away and then back again, fascinated to watch how hard Alec fought, how reluctantly he let go of his control. When release finally took him, he shook like a flag cracked by the wind, lips pulled back from his teeth, one hand clenched hard in Richard’s hair. He nearly fell, then, and as Richard caught him, held him, he saw the imprint of teeth on Alec’s palm and ran a thumb over the livid marks.

***

It was evening when they left, the sky streaked red and gold and purple with the lingering summer sunset. Alec convinced the stablehand that they’d been sent to fetch supplies from the village below - “you know his lordship demands fresh berries this time of year. Hurry up, man; I’m not going to be blamed for your slowness. How long does it take to saddle a horse?” - and they rode out before the first stars had appeared. Richard hadn’t ridden a horse in years, but he must have managed well enough, because he caught Alec glancing at him in surprise.

There was no one else on the road, and Richard doubted they’d be missed before morning. Alec tried to convince him to engage in some highway robbery, but in the end the only person they passed was a night mail coach, a few drowsing passengers slumped on the roof. Alec would still have gone for it, but Richard argued that the only thing to steal on a mail coach was likely to be a governess’s trunk of dresses, and if Alec wanted grey flannel so badly, they could buy it. In the end, the matter was dropped, though Alec pretended to sulk for a few miles.

It was black midnight when they caught sight of a glow in the sky ahead of them. They were walking the horses to rest them, and the low hanging clouds reflected the city’s light, rosy orange, like a beacon for travelers. “It looks almost pleasant, from here,” Alec said.

Richard laughed. “It’s not so late as that. We can still catch a game at Rosalie’s, if you want.”

“Do you think I could bet a horse?”

“Easier to change them for coin outside the gates.”

“Less amusing, though.” Alec sat the horse with unusual grace, the reins held loosely in his hands, his back- for once- straight. He looked the part: a nobleman fully, in the dark of night. He could have ridden to the Hill like that, even ridden back to Nevilleson’s house, and they would have taken him in. Richard felt a slight twinge at the thought, and put it aside. He didn’t need Alec. It was the reason he loved him.

“To Riverside, then?”

“Of course.” Alec gave him a scornful look, and snapped the reins, the horse under him shifting to a trot. “Hurry up. I can’t wait to get drunk.”


End file.
